Best Gradation Poems
~ A Poem on the Parsha* ~
'In the Sinai Desert'
A wilderness - barren, desolate
that snakes and scorpions populate
Flat, sand-swept, open to all
who yearn to hear Eternity's call
There God led His new nation
Spoke to three million, atop a mountain gradation
On Horeb, the lowliest of them
face-to-face ~ Moses and Jerusalem
________________________________________________
*'Parsha' is Hebrew for (loosely) 'portion.' Every Sabbath
a portion of the Five Books of Moses is read in the
synagogue. In a year's time, all five books are completed,
and the grand occasion is celebrated at the last holiday
of the Fall Harvest Season, 'Simchas Torah.' (lit., 'Rejoic-
ing with the Law.'). This Sabbath, the portion read is titled
'In the Desert,' from the Book of Numbers 1:1 - 4:20.
~ The Universe Spins Round ~
Joy and Light
Shining Bright
Waves of Tranquility
Ocean to Sea
Galaxies, Suns
Combine as One
Illumine Mankind
His Cosmic Mind
Woods and Forests
Nuance and Gradation
While Winds and Rain
Bring forth Vegetation
O! The Universe spins Round
In Timeless Syncopation
While Poets scribble Madly
In Verbose Adoration
July 16, 2020
Strand Completely New (21) Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Brian Strand
God Has A Plan For Me
I came into this world August 12 1986 by the Grace of God. I was Two months early and was only weighting at four pounds then. I didn’t give up then My God has a plan for me.
When I was six months old I was diagnosis with juvenile diabetes and been living with it ever since. My God has a plan for me.
In 1987 to 1988 I would not walk at all I was almost two years old before I decided to started to walk on my own.
My God has a plan for me
At five years old my father died from a massive heart attacked on the same day of my kindergarten gradation I knew something was wrong but I also know that My God had a plan for me
At six years old I was Diagnosis with Major Depression, Anxiety Disorder, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), Panic Disorder, Separation Anxiety Disorder, and Social Anxiety Disorder. But I knew My God Had a plan for me.
At seven years old a close family member sexually assaulted me and I kept that secret with me now. But I know that My God has a plan for me
At ten years old I got diagnosis with OCD (Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder). But My God had a plan for me
At sixteen years old I was diagnosis with Bipolar Disorder I used to fight and yell at any adults and teachers who talked to me and put holes into walls of my room. But I knew My God had a plan for me
At twenty-three years old I was diagnosis with hypercholesterolemia, MRSA but My God has a plan for me
At twenty-eight I was diagnosis with Inflammation of the Bronchial Tubes, Major Depression, Bipolar Disorder the one I have is the Rapid-Cycling, Schizophrenia and I am on Suicide Watch But I am Still here.
My God Still Have A Plan For Me.
Form:
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Sun Of Summer
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: June/2015
Winters gone now, and its falling
snow, and icy crystals, have liquefied
to its watery grave.
The once hazardous black ice
that bedded atop the slippery asphalt
streets, is gone too.
Spring, is here, and the late March
Sun, is still ninetythree million miles
away from earth; rotating around a
silver moon-
Flowers are in bloom, in all their
splendour, Cherry tree blossoms are
budding, and the once dormant grass
in winter is now green again.
The familiar gradation of the late
Spring hazy day sky, is slowly beginning
it's change to a cloudless oasis, in the
blue hues of celestial space.
Soon, it's picture perfect looks,
will give way to the relentless dog day's
of summer, and the sweet sounds of
chirping fledgling birds, singing in the
breeze of spring, will migrate to some-
where cool.
Make no mistake about it,
Summer is near, and the invisible
celestial rays of heat, are slowly
beginning to spiral down out the
Sky.
Any day now, the ball of fire
in the universe, will farther distance
itself from the silver moon; moving
closer to earth, to send it's infernal
rays through the atmosphere.
Winters - slush, snow, and ice,
and Springs, beautiful colours of
carnations, and daffodils, will serve
as a far distant memory, that
succumbed to Summer's Sun -
And from henceforth, the planet
will burn, and silhouette's from Sun Rays,
will shadow the orange/blue hues of a July,
August, and September sky -
Earth's axis now rest in Summer;
some will welcome in the most sweltering
season of them all, with beach fun, bbq
party's and family outings in the park -
However, not everyone will welcome
the three months of scorching heat, as the
Mercury Index reaches above three digits -
Nonetheless, the Equinox, will spin
the sun closer to earth, to reach fruition.
and all will know that the Sun Of Summer
has arrived -
(C). Copyright 2015 all rights reserved
Daily we face different kinds of aggravation,
but there is one type which by man has its causation,
and it merits an immediate termination.
But because of modern “civilization”
and the greed of many a corporation,
it’s doubtful we shall have the consolation
of ending modern man’s contamination.
I’m not talking parasites or the visitation
of bacteria from eating a crustateon.
I mean the one of worsening gradation.
It’s environmental, and in my evaluation,
is the worst of all, for it has manifestation
in things consumed by us or by our inhalation
of air of course! It’s an abberation
for which we need to have more constertnation!
Society should have mortification
for what is being done. There’s no good explanation
to offer our descendents. The concentration
of chemicals and also of radiation
along with nitrates in our soil’s fertilzation
is cancer-causing, and now inflammation
is affecting nearly all the population.
Politicians do not act. Procrastination
may very well end in our obliteration!
It’s like murder through premeditation.
And this murder uses no discrimination.
What do you think? Is it this country’s destination
to leave our kids with total devestation?
Surely in this mortal realm there can be salvation!
And so I finish with this small summation:
Unless we act, we’ll remain, for the duration,
in our station of a Contamination Nation.
4/4/18 for the Contamination Contest of Kai Michael Neumann
I DON’T KNOW
So what’s wrong with saying “I don’t know”
When your poem is good, and feels just so?
A technical requirement to state categorically
What you have said, albeit metaphorically.
Like asking Einstein to place his e=mc2 formula
Neatly in the correct position on a page of algebra
Otherwise he will lose marks and gain only “C”
Or ordering Michaelangelo to sign properly
So that his paintings may be in a catalogue
And the gallery guide can give her monologue.
Or what if Curie was given a low academic gradation
For fooling around with radium and radiation?
Or Sir Humphrey Davy, remembered with odium
For accidentally stumbling on the discovery of Sodium:
Imagine his schoolteacher fillng out the report card -
“Davy is disorganized and needs to work hard”
So please allow poets to say that they do not know
The category into which they must go.
(15/09/2011)
We are fulfilling each other
No need conversion or substitution factor
As black and white in fashion,
We’re so contrast in gradation
But, yep, we’re a match in any occasion
Le Squirrel Sat For Le Painter
His canvass set
And oils based,
He zeroed onto her providence.
His lips miming
Rhode Island here
Big Apples there.
She scowled her impatience.
Her eyes dismissing his.
Although,
Him noting her dark chocolates,
Sweet looking,
Cloaked as balls of fire,
And a posture gorgeous and erect.
And so was he.
She was a beauty
And a beast ...
As levity was short on her,
But long on him.
If only she would give in
It would make for better strokes,
A better potrait.
Thus ill fated
In his mind,
This potrait sat on thin ice.
Little squirrels jumping in,
Ski jumping off her nose.
Swoosh!
Another one.
Swoosh!
The third missed.
Crash landing on her lap,
Smiling.
A caricature off and galloping.
His horse neighing in absentee.
Seeds of a lampoon sprouting.
His mind jumping
To conclusions.
He raced.
The potrait moaned.
He dabbled a little oil here,
A little oil there.
A pinch of rouge
On her cheeks and lips,
And highlighting a reflection
In her pupils.
Chocolates never looked so bitter.
He finished with sparkles
In her hair, flaming.
He paused,
Adding a little depth
and gradation to her forehead,
pointed and blunt,
like a squirrel posing at his party.
After all she was.
For hues,a reddish brown, and swirls,
No mistaking that of Le Squirrel.
He had a little ways to go
And a lifetime of laughter.
He added squirrels jetting
From her mouth and ears.
And that bushy tail,
He thought
Wiser of not making
Her into a **** star
His mind thinking,
her seated, the bushy tail
jetting up between her thighs.
No.
Upon realization,
her eyes squinting at the portrait
in disbelief,
Le Squirrel screamed.
The shrill heard around town,
Making the artist rise.
connie pachecho
8/31/17
Inspired to write this poem after reading entries
to the Artwork-Poetry Contest
The panderer's grandiose smitten scheme
spectacular invention those calibrated scenes,
gradation of movement in unhurried steps
resistance ineffectual fallen to debt...
Marvelously sculptured are unscrupulous ideas,
lavishly displayed within bubbled galleria
tempted to chance overwhelming desire,
dissapating blazon our spiritual fire...
Corruption and greed,is not our human nature,
more appropriate are unjust errant ventures...
We were at school together
Was one of our group.
But boys not on my mind
Too much studying to do.
We went out and about
As friends do.
Gradually i noticed
A group became two.
Always together,
Silently studying I know
We have exams to pass,
University to go.
We separated then
Each went our own way.
Meet up in the holidays
So much to say.
Gradation at last
Homeward bound.
Take up where we finished
Now time is allowed.
We start our careers
Meet up when we can
I realised at last
This was the man.
But fate was in store
Not on our side
He got cancer
In two years was dead
Been a long time in that tunnel
Where you can hide
Til you are ready
To reach other side
Now I can face the world again
So I write poetry and paint .
Have my work,
Geez, I sound like a saint
Not looking for love
It will find me.
Have the constant companion
In my rescue boxer Tilly.
TIME MAY CHANGE SOON!!
Absence of leaves can not impede on my happiness,
Absence of green color cannot ruin my prettiness.
Don't be confounded if am not giving oxygen,
Don't be astounded if I am not able to show gradation.
Don't interpret me wrongly if I am not offering shade,
Don't conclude me inferior if am unfruitful and fade.
I am hopeful as standing fearless and straight,
I am exceptional possessing a distinct trait.
No worries, time may change soon,
And I may appear with full bloom.
Turn of events may change the position,
Rain of blessings may yield a conversion.
Don't be so quick to judge someone,
Nothing is permanent, anything may happen.
MEMORY
I missed rank and prize in Examination
When in Eighth standard just by one mark.
I was extremely shocked, no consolation.
The injustice gave me terrible jerk.
I was determined to stand First next year.
I succeeded and showed progress report to Dad.
Dad hugged me and told ‘My child, Dear,
Your success matters more than mine, I am so glad.'
In later life I felt exact same emotion,
while caring for daughters to raise them up.
Their joy and success seemed my up gradation.
My own demand was next to follow up.
07/10/19
Tenth Place
'Childhood Memories' Contest by Chantelle Anne Cooke
Burning daylight
Burnt the whole daylight
and entered the dark,
Only to learn plight
of firefly that glowed in the dark,
Burnt the whole daylight
to find the spark,
Lost in depressive fight
else had touched high as skylark,
Burnt the whole daylight
to hide the shame,
Of unfairly attained delight
else had not brought dis fame,
Burnt the whole daylight
in kindness and good intent,
For sound sleep of the night
of peace and content,
Burnt the whole daylight
in gaining education,
Studying also at night
for better gradation,
Burning the whole daylight
life was an absolute waste,
Knowledge rose to height
but humanity lost its taste !
Written May 6th, 2015
For contest by John Lawless
LEST YOU YOURSELF BE JUDGED
If my game is to be judged, let it be in the way
I hesitatingly judge other people’s play.
Perhaps the ultimate judgement of my game
Will be merely a replica of my own past – the same.
When I judge a child or even an adult
I allow for all the pressures difficult
And every opportunity and gift
Which were thrust upon him swift.
And then I try to assess how well he did.
A teacher likes an always-does-his-best kid.
What about the smart kid who doesn’t have to try?
No teacher I know will judge this kid very high.
In card-playing terms, it’s understood:
Did he play his hand the best way he could?
All bridge players know from contending
That a hand is a winner or a loser depending
Not on king, queen, ace or other boss card,
But on who plays it with skill - and how hard.
After all, the cards come to us at random
And we must take them and use them with wisdom.
No such thing as fate or luck or chance.
Chance always favours the prepared stance.
That seems only fair to me: and if to me, then
Hopefully also to the Ultimate Judge of men.
If I am wrong, and the final summation
Of my life is measured with a different gradation,
Then I feel that there probably was no Creation:
And there is no Ultimate Judge. It is all imagination.
Light and Dark-
we speak in contrasts
easier to resolve
than the shades between
(fine lines of gradation
that truly define)
If we were basic color…
then amalgams of dim and bright
would do-
but our specie is far more elusive,
somewhere between wrong and right
everything really of old
and everything possibly new…